“If you haven’t noticed yet, Alma is a Texas transplant,” Georgia said. “But she’s adapted to our East Coast lifestyle just fine, and it didn’t take any adapting for us to fall in love with her Southern cooking.”
“It’s amazing.” Stella directed the compliment to Alma. “It’s all so good—the food, the atmosphere…everything.”
Stella meant it. The Duke Saloon was so much more than its exterior had led Stella to believe. From the outside, it was a small brick building with double doors and an understated sign affixed to the side. The building could just as easily be a dentist's office or an accounting firm as anything else. Inside, however, Stella had been transported to another world. The walls were wood-clad and covered with coiled lassos nailed to the wall, pictures of men riding on the backs of bulls, one arm lifted in the air, and an exposed, weather-worn brick wall with “The Duke Saloon” painted in faded white letters. The tables were sturdy and wooden with upcycled barrels topped with cushions for chairs. Stained-glass windows on the side of the building filtered in golden shafts of faded light, and the warm lights hanging above the tables and booth blotted away most of the other shadows. It was rustic and comfortable and charming, and Stella loved how friendly everyone was with one another.
When Georgia wasn’t looking, Alma grabbed a spoon from under the counter and scooped out a bite from the middle of the pecan pie for Drew. He took it from her happily, covering his mouth and laughing when his mom caught him and pinched his side in punishment.
“Barbarians, all of you.” Georgia pointed her finger at her friend and narrowed her eyes, but there was nothing but love between the two of them.
Stella hardly knew these people, but she found herself feeling jealous of them. Of their closeness and friendships.
Stella had Brenda—Brenda, as in the entire reason Stella was even here to begin with—but it wasn’t the same. They lacked the intimacy and comfort these people had with one another. Even Sam, sitting in the corner by himself, laughed openly when Drew tried to steal another bite of pie. Georgia caught him and carried the pie across the saloon to Sam, who promised to guard it with his life.
There was affection in his eyes when he tipped his head and made his promise to Georgia, and Stella couldn’t help but feel jealous of that, too. Drew said Sam was a friend of his father’s, but what did that mean now that his father was, apparently, gone? Were Sam and Georgia still friends? Were they more than friends?
None of that mattered—Stella knew that. No matter how much fun she had tonight, her plans hadn’t changed. She’d be gone the moment her car was ready, headed for Boston and whatever was awaiting her there.
Maybe she would find a new future in the big city. Maybe she’d find a community and friends who would have dinner with her at a local restaurant and spend the meal teasing one another like family. Maybe she’d find people to help her fill her time and keep her laughing.
Even when Jace was at home, Stella didn’t have friends like that. She had Jace before any of her friends were even married. While she was at home making bottles, they were out popping bottles. And now that Stella was moving into a new phase of life, many of those same friends had preteens at home. They had years of active parenting lying ahead of them, and Stella felt out of sync.
She always felt out of sync—even now. All of these people knew and cared about one another, and Stella was an intruder. The Baldwins were nice to invite her to eat with them, but she ought to go and let them all enjoy one another’s company without the weight of strange eyes on them.
“Should I ask Sam to bring you a piece of pie, Stella?” Alma asked. “Drew has had all of his shots, so you don’t need to worry about catching anything from him.”
“It’s true,” Drew agreed with a grin.
Stella put down her fork and pushed away from her empty plate. “I’m sure the pie is as good as you’ve said, but I couldn’t eat another bite if I wanted to. Actually, I might go back to my room and get to sleep. It has been a big day, and I’m feeling tired.”
“That’s your full stomach talking! You just need to work off some of the food, and you’ll feel good as new.” Georgia laid a hand on Stella’s back and then twisted around, waving at Sam. “Sam Warren, come over here. Your services are required.”
“No. I mean, this isn’t necessary. Really, no one needs to—” Stella stammered, trying to cut off whatever Georgia had planned before it got too far.
“Yes,” Georgia said firmly, pulling Stella from her stool just as Sam arrived, the pie in his hand. Georgia plucked it from him. “You are off pie duty and officially on dancing duty. Stella needs to be shown a good time, and what better way to ensure that than partnering her with the best dancer in all of Willow Beach?”
“The best dancer in Willow Beach isn’t a very impressive title, but I’ll take it.” Sam bowed at the waist and raised an upturned hand to Stella. “May I have this dance?”
Stella wanted to refuse—partly because she was so full she was sure she’d sooner roll across the dance floor than dance across it, and partly because she hadn’t danced with anyone in years—but before she could, Georgia accepted on her behalf and placed Stella’s hand in Sam’s. He closed his warm fingers around hers and led her onto the dance floor.
“I don’t think anyone is dancing. The music is so quiet. Maybe we should—”
Before Stella could finish the sentence, the volume increased, and she looked over to see Alma turning the knob on the sound system and giving Stella a thumbs-up.
Despite the knot of apprehension in
